


best piece's called dessert

by fullbodykiss



Series: sweet pieces of luck [3]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Original Character(s), post comatose state
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-10-27 08:23:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10805373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullbodykiss/pseuds/fullbodykiss
Summary: Jared is sent to recover between yellow walls carrying Van Gogh'sSunflowers.Blurred memory leads love onto shaky ground.





	best piece's called dessert

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> DECLARATION
> 
>  
> 
> I've had no experience of this kind; I know neither what it's like to suffer/recover from Traumatic Brain Injury, nor what it's like in a rehab facility.  
> But what _do_ know is that every TBI case is different, and I hope my version of recovery fits into that range.  
>  If you'd like to correct me on a detail, please do.  
>  
> 
>  
> 
> DISCLAIMER
> 
>  
> 
> The people belong to themselves.  
>   
> 
> 
> ****  
>    
>    
> 

# 

s. p. o. l.

## part 3

 

### 

best piece's called dessert

  


 

\+ + +

 

 

 

holding up 

is never good enough

oh, your love 

is lost on me

 

\-- milo greene,  
_what's the matter_

 

 

 

\+ + +

 

 _Usually_ , the doctor says, choices of where to go next could be a rehabilitation facility, a skilled nursing facility, or home with 24 hour family or caregiver assistance.  
In cases like this, however, we'll admit the patient to a rehab hospital for a two to four weeks stay, family teaching included. 

Heads turn to look at the figure through the glass. 

Asleep. 

If it wasn't for the healthy arm loosely twisted around his head, there'd be no visible difference from yesterday's picture. 

The hard part should be over. 

Has to be, he thinks, breathing in deep as they step from between white walls into clear air. For good. 

The part coming after, that's the one that lasts.  
Lasts, present tense. 

The scary one. 

 

\+ +

 

Jared doesn't talk during the ride. He's trying to sleep with his head against the window. 

Megan's faded _Astronautalis_ hoodie has been offered to put inbetween, but the only reaction consisted of unfocused eyes and a mere head shake. 

A long hair strand has fallen next to his nose, making Jensen's fingers twitch. 

He doesn't dare. 

 

Only fifty miles left to go when Jared finally starts snoring.

  
A faint drop of saliva slides down the glass, accelerating with every speed-bump.

 

As they pull into a nearly empty parking lot, Jensen's sleeve wipes it off. 

Just a whisper keeps him from creeping up to the hair strand again. 

It's Sharon, halfway turning in her seat.  
_We're a little early. Maybe we can go for a walk, let him sleep a tiny bit longer? Jensen, dear, you must be..._

"I'm good." 

There's a way only mothers can smile.  
It puts their beating hearts on display.  
Yet they're not as vulnerable as the receiving ones; those who feel too much in the center of unashamed, fierce affection. 

Those lowering their gazes. 

  
Once the last door falls shut, he runs a hand over his eyes. 

He's tired. 

Wishes Jared was awake.  
Again.  
More than awake.  
Not lost, not empty or sleepy, not still caught in another world's fangs. 

He's so tired.

 

\+ +

 

The room is nice and spacious. 

Opposite the windows, three copies of famous artworks hang on the wall; each with a different background of blue and green shades.  
Brown, wilted sunflowers. 

The afternoon rays falling through the curtains participate in taking off the wistful feeling.  
Comforts the flowers, somehow. 

"A wonderful room", Gerald comments. 

Megan's fingertips graze a fragile-looking lamp on the wooden desk.  
"I saw one of these on Amazon." 

Jared doesn't look. 

Simply rolls his wheelchair straight towards the bed and lifts himself up on top on it, shrugging off the helping hands.  
No.  
No.  
Space.

 

Back in the corridor, those hands are directed at Jensen. 

He's been straining to move the door handle as quietly as possible.  
Now that all eyes are on him, he pretends to concentrate even harder. 

Down. Pull.  
And up. Let go. 

Finally meeting Jeff's, then Sharon's eyes, he sucks both lips between his teeth. 

_Don't watch me like that._

He's had enough. 

_Don't watch anyone like that._

 

\+ +

 

Four A.M. 

A heart is pulled at two ends, waiting for the crack. 

"Jared." 

 

An ambulance chases through the streets, the background noise to ragged breath filling the seconds. 

  
"I just - Just _tell_ me what's wrong. Please." 

"Not your problem." 

"Jared." There.  
There's the crack. 

  
"Just _leave_ it." 

And Jared walks out, still in his PJ's; still holding a wet, scarlet handkerchief under his nose. 

 

  
He's alone. 

After a moment, his feet begin to pace over the carpet, round and round and round. 

Grass green carpet.  
Faded grass of early spring, the one peeking out from melting snow. Like matte hair in need of a shower. 

At some point, he stops. Stops, considers, looks at his watch.  
No. It's been less than a minute. 

He stares at the sunflowers. Starts counting them.  
Ten, twelve, fourteen, fifteen. 

Doesn't know what he expected.  
If he was Van Gogh, he would've named them _Sixteen Sunflowers_ , just to make people look for the missing one.  
Searching only to find out the obvious is kind of a double-paradox, at least in Jensen's head. Isn't it?

Probably not. 

  
Watch says one full minute. His heart is still not back.  


Alright, then the petals. Of the blooming ones, that is.  
That one's more complicated, 'cause some of them are combined.  


Everyone used to know who they were talking to. Then a soul was pushed into its shell for fifty-four days.  
It's like only half of it made it back.  
Despite living the least, this one still changed the most. 

Weird. 

It's while tracing the brush lines of the vase mid-air, he listens up. 

Soft tapping. Unruly. 

His fingers still. 

"Jen?" 

Chest flying, he turns. 

A head leaning against the doorframe, blotchy and red.  
A thumb roughing over crinkled eyelids.  
"I, I can't believe I just said that. All those things. Don't be mad", silent question mark, choked sound, "please, I'm sorry."

Another noise.  
Worse. 

Jensen notices the handkerchief crammed inside a fist, red dripping on green.  


"Hey, no", he says softly, moving through Jared's ward, through tensing shoulders and lifting head and crooked fingers.  
"Don't be." 

Stopping at a few feets' distance, he reaches out awkwardly; willing his arms to look nice and warm and not at all shaking with presentiment of a dismissal. 

Jared wouldn't.  
Probably. 

  
And he doesn't. 

  
Though a bit stiffly, Jared lets himself be pulled in.  
Freeing a breath, he even leans his forehead on Jensen's shoulder.  
So, clearly exhausted to the edge. 

  
"It's my head", Jared says behind closed teeth. And then, with increasing volume, "I can't _think_."

Jensen has suspected it, knows that the migraines are evidence at its most severe. 

But there's nothing to ease it. 

This morning, when Jared was given his daily ration of alleviates, he swallowed them all in one go, ignoring what the doctor and the nurse and the mother and the case manager had said. 

And, for the next three hours, he did seem okay. 

He even left the bed for something other than appointments, finally took that walk in the gardens with Mama and Megan. Finally ate more. 

Finally talked.  


 

Jensen sways them. 

"How about tea?", his voice rumbles through his chest. "Helped the other day, right?" 

Jared hesitates for a second, then nods against his neck. Hair is tickling Jensen's chin. 

Leaning back again, he restrains the urge to hold on some more - and gently, gently, tugs at Jared's elbow instead. 

"C'mon", _Sweetheart_ , "I'll make you tea." 

 

On the way to the kitchen, Jared doesn't take his hand. 

He normally would. Normally would swing their arms until Jensen's shoulder hurt, and then some more. Jared would whistle a new melody behind his teeth and talk about groceries or this indie band he discovered on YouTube, I'll show you later, Jen, they're _not_ stupid.  


  
This body slumps down on the kitchen chair, doesn't really touch the tea, and refuses to say anything for the rest of a long, long day. 

Jensen does it again.  
Overinterpretes like he does, in the most absurd way possible. The worse the theory, the better. Distrust? Please. Try a quiet breakup. Try divorce papers sitting in his lap next time he wakes up. 

Okay, yeah, probably not. That.  
That's not.  
That doesn't even.  
Make any. 

No. This isn't rational, brain says helpfully. This is drama. Jensen is being dramatic.  
For all that's been happening, Jared's character change - _transformation_ \- is definitely interpretable. He's re-adapting to the real world. That takes time. 

What was it that they say?  
_An abnormal reaction to an abnormal situation is normal behavior._  
That's right. He is being emotional; and this isn't about him. 

It. Is just. 

A few days ago, Megan needed a ride to the mall. He went back for the keys and caught a glimpse of Jared's smiling mouth through the ajar door; cheeks folded into beginnings of dimples as Gerald's animated laugh filled the air. 

 

\+ +

 

> "It's - I can't see it. I can't see it. There is no number." 
> 
> "Jared." 
> 
> " _Where?_ I don-" 
> 
> A hand reaches out, "I need -" 
> 
> He flinches before it can touch. "What are you doing?!" 
> 
> "I need you to concentrate", she says softly. "Please. Breathe deep, and try again. I know you can do it."  
>  Then, "Do you need a minute to clear your head?" 
> 
> He blinks multiple times. Shakes his head slowly. 
> 
> "Alright. Good. Now, look at the pattern again. Somewhere in there is a number." 
> 
> He turns his head. "I can... see it now. I don't -" 
> 
> "What is it?" 
> 
> "Forty-six." 
> 
> "Forty-eight", she corrects. "But close, yeah? That's good. You're making progress." 
> 
> He sighs sharply. 
> 
> "Hey. Be patient with yourself." 
> 
> Jared cranes his neck backwards over the back of the sofa, throwing an arm over his eyes. 
> 
>   
>  "I'm the most impatient perfectionist in the world."

 

+

 

Jared doesn't stand up as well when _Mr Ackles?_ is called up from the waiting room. 

"She wants you first", he mumbles at Jensen's questioning glance. 

Alright, shit. Talk about unexpectant.  
He bites back a second-meaning comment and follows the assistant. 

When he walks into the room, tiles click-clacking under his soles, she meets his gaze with a small smile. 

"Mr Ackles. We've already met. May I call you Jensen?"  
Quick nod.  
"Alright, Jensen. Won't you take a seat, I'm glad you're here to do this. Would you be comfortable to answer a few questions?" 

He shifts on the stiff leather couch, trying not to look too sweaty.  
If that makes sense. He kind of imagines wind from the sea. 

"Sure", comes through his throat. 

And she cuts right to the chase. "Great. How would you describe your relationship with Jared?" 

Blackout. 

Generally? Or with details?  
Too many of those, let's try option one. 

"Jared's my husband. He's. He's awesome."

Was that too dry? Should he add something, like, tell her the story of how they met? Dan usually volunteers to take over that job - he was the one who did it at the wedding, red plastic cup of champagne in one hand and a long stick piercing a burned marshmallow in the other, sound of crickets in the distance. Inbetween passages, tipsy snickers and whoops from everyone; all eyes on the flickering flames. Jensen's eyes were afire when they swerved towards his glowing groom, the right side of his face cooling off in the shadows. 

The shine of sleek hair pulls.  
Her head's just nodding, gratified with straightforward.  
"And how would you like to describe your relationship to someone like, uh", a look is sent down at her notebook, "Miss Danneel Harris?" 

Heartbeats stop coming. 

Stop, go, and start racing. 

He feels his whole face open up. "Wh- Are y-" 

"It's a simple question", she says, all flawless pokerface.  
Imagine, maybe there's something soft in there. He holds on to that. 

"She, she's - our friend, I guess", he gestures, wetness in his palm, "I mean, we never really - I mean. We met her a couple o'months back. Through Gen, who met her through a colleague. And she kinda fit into our group, so."  
He shrugs. 

He hopes it was a good shrug. Not too strong, not too weak. What the fuck. 

Dr Lector raises a thin brow, smiles, and clears her throat. She leans over to press a button on her antique looking telephone. Jensen has been mistaking it for decoration.  
"Sindy, honey, may you please bring in Jared?" 

"The tall one?", static voice answers immediately. He can't place the accent - something sharp. Maybe russian. 

"Yeah, him." 

"Oh. He's in the bathroom right now." 

"All right. We'll wait."  
She lets go of the button, letting out a minikin sigh. 

 

They wait for five long, long minutes. Jensen almost wishes she'd start asking questions again, even though they probably wouldn't make him squirm any less. 

 

  
Eventually, the door opens with a swing, almost hitting the wall. 

It's Jared, stepping in with pinched mouth.  
One glimpse of a blonde woman half-hidden behind his broad frame, winking at them and closing the door behind him. 

"Jared", Dr Lector exclaims, something like real astonishment coloring her voice. "So great to have you here. Please, take a seat." 

He obeys silently, choosing the chair closest to the door. 

No look in Jensen's direction. 

"Now, how about we try and get the root issue out of the way?", she says with an air of confidence. "Jared. In our last session, you stated that you awoke from your comatose state with the firm belief that Jensen here", she glances at him, "was romantically involved with Danneel Harris. Correct?" 

Jensen's head whips around to watch Jared nod vaguely, fumbling with his sleeves. 

"Given the high chance of memory loss, you assumed that you'd lost the part when you and Jensen divorced", the therapist continued, reading from her notebook, Jensen's need to vomit multiplying with every word.  
"Despite not finding any evidential documents, you still held on to that belief." 

Jared reddens, but nods again.  
Quietly, he mumbles, "It, uh. It, it sounds kind of silly now." 

Jensen's hands fall limp to his sides. 

This. 

 

This is why. Everything. 

"Nothing to feel silly about", the therapist shoots back easily.  
"Many patients have trouble keeping reality and vision apart, _especially_ after having been in a coma for nearly two months. And while we are going to figure out the difference, I recommend trying to stay motivated and to take each and every statement", she looks at Jensen, "seriously, but not too personal. Unless."  
Thank fuck, she leaves it unsaid. 

He sits up, making her smile. 

But he sat up to feel alive.  
May as well have been dunken and sunken into boiling magma with a swarm of hornets. 

Shit. Fucking. 

"Alright?" 

From the corner of his eye, Jared nods for the thousandth time. 

"Yeah", he hears himself bullshit no one and the universe. 

 

\+ +

 

Alright. It's alright. It's alright. It's alright. It's alright. It's alright. It's.

 

\+ +

 

Thursday.

She's running late. 

 

Dr Lector doesn't seem to mind the silence, busy with notepad and pencil. 

Jared is staring ahead. Unblinking. 

 

When steps enter the room fifteen minutes in, all gazes turn to the door.  
Out of breath, a redhead meets Jensen's eyes, briefly in awe. _You too?_

"Ah. Miss Harris", greets the therapist, "Thank you for coming." 

She grins, still panting. "Oh please, call me Danneel. Sooo sorry I'm late, guys", she hurries to the empty chair in the middle, shaking the Dr Lector's hand with vigor, "There was this really slow truck in front of me, and it was carrying like, five other trucks - the streets are so narrow around here, right? Is it just me?"  
She laughs, looking around. 

Jared slightly turns his head to give a polite smile.  
Sweat in the dip of his forehead, no dimples. 

He's trying, Jensen realizes. He's not just.  
He's trying. 

Dr Lector clears her throat.  
"That's true", she says. "Mi- Danneel, I'm sure you're wondering why you're here." 

"Gosh, that's the understatement of the century", is the tittered answer, all wide eyes. "I literally have no _idea_ \- I mean, well. I kind of do. I visited Jensen a couple of times in the hospital, so. Do you do this with ev-"  
"Pardon?" 

Deer caught in the headlights. "What?" 

Dr Lector raises a brow. "Excuse me. Whom did you visit?" 

"Oh", Danneel laughs in relief, throwing one leg over the other, "Well. Technically? Both. Of course. It's just that _he_ ", she flicks her hair towards Jensen, "was the only one really, well, _there_ , if you know what I mean. That's why I - well, but of course, it was both. You know what I mean?" 

"Mhm", is the grunted answer. 

Jensen steals a look to Jared, who looks all embarrassed and crumpled, like he'd want to draw his legs to his chest and hide behind his knees. 

"And how often would you consider 'a couple of times'?" 

"Wait", Danneel squints at the ceiling, moving her lips in concentration. "Hold on." 

"About four times a week", Jensen helps, startling everyone. Including himself.  
He squirms under the sudden attention. "For. About three weeks, I think. Starting December." 

Dr Lector's face remains perfectly stoic.  
"Alright." She documents it into her notepad.  
Looks up with a smile. "I think that's all I need to know for today. If you don't mind, I'd like to continue the conversation with Jared alone." 

"Course", Jensen mutters, stands.  
He dares to send a glance towards the corner of the room.  
A hunched back, hair half-covering downcast eyes. 

And there. 

A vibrating jaw. 

 

 

 

Outside of the room, Danneel stares at him.  
"That went much quicker than I thought", she says with a dazzled expression.  
Then breaks out a nervous laugh.  
"Kinda weird." 

Jensen pulls some face.  
"Yeah." 

There is nothing else to say. 

 

\+ +

 

A few sessions go like that.  
Danneel is invited to join them one more time, Dr Lector asking subtle questions. 

And when it's just Jared and Jensen again, things get a bit more real. 

It's terrifying. 

But after the fourth time, Jensen feels less like he's being hunted down. More like they're all on the same page, trying to work things out. 

"A lack of communication can and will damage relationships", Dr Lector says. "As you know. Is there something you'd like to say? Jensen?" 

His head whips up.  
"Me?", uselessly asks. 

"You." 

"I, uh." 

"No. To your husband." 

They've been talking through Dr Lector as their messenger, always leading the conversation, always telling them what to approach next. 

Alright.  
_Alright._ So he faces Jared, trying to swallow. The way she said it makes his throat close up. "Uhm. I." 

You, not he. 

While it breaks his heart, it also comforts him, somehow. 

He just thanks Jared for being here. For trying. For not running out that door, like he probably wants to.  
The last comment was meant to crack a smile. 

Jared buries his face in his hands. 

Jensen stops immediately. Sending her an anxious look. 

Perfectly calm, she asks, "Jared, do you want him to leave the room for a moment?" 

Hesitancy.  
Head shake. No. 

"You want him to keep talking?" 

Head shake, firmer. _No._

She nods.  
"That's okay." 

 

When they part ways a few minutes later, it seems like Jared's shoulders hunch a little less. 

He still won't meet Jensen's gaze, but. Like she said. 

It's okay. 

 

Right now, it really is. Even the hurting. 

 

\+ +

 

"Did you say something to him?" 

She stops drinking, disconnecting from the glass of avocado smoothie. "What?" 

He feels like an asshole. 

"When Jared was - and I wasn't there, did you say something? Do something? Like. I mean." 

"No", She frowns, incredulous. "Why would I?" 

He shrugs. 

Maybe he just wants to believe that it's somebody's fault. 

Her voice sobers up. "Is this why you visited?" 

He looks down. 

 

\+ +

 

It's after the next session. 

Dr Lector gives a command with no care to elaborate. 

"Verbal list of what you like. Jensen, begin." 

 

After a second, Jensen jump-thinks of Shrek. 

"Jared?" 

 

Uhm. Dresses. 

"Go on." 

 

Couch corners. 

Fire. 

Journals. 

The donkey from Shrek. 

Neptune. 

Manhattan. The cocktail. 

Gordon Lightwood. 

Old guitars. 

New guitars. 

And E-guitars. 

E-guitars, yeah. 

Uh. Accents. Really strong ones. 

Black tea. 

Jensen's nose scrunches up. 

Or Coffee, Jared adds quietly, something tugging at the corner of his mouth.

 

 

This time, ending time, Jared doesn't wait until Jensen has left the room, the building and the planet. 

This time, he's only a few steps behind, following him through the door.  
On the stairs, he passes by - no eye contact still, but a dimple in his cheek. 

 

+

 

Back at the hotel, the cleaning lady eyes Jensen with suspicion. 

"What's up with you?", she asks, knitted brows and a fist on her strong hip. 

"Dunno, what's up with you?", he grins. 

She walks out, shaking her head relentlessly. "Hay días tontos y tontos todos los días." 

He quickly pulls out his phone, the weak _I heard that_ on his lips. 

 

Turns out she speaks too many syllables per second for him to remember what to type into Google Translate. 

At least he knows what _y_ means. 

 

\+ +

 

> December 31st. 
> 
> "Jay, honey? You alright?"  
>  Someone crouches in front of him, his eyes re-focusing to look into Mama's worried face. 
> 
> "Uh, yeah", he says after a moment, trying to give what her eyes are searching for. "Why?" 
> 
> "I've been calling you five times." 
> 
> Bug-eyes. "I didn't. I'm sorry, Mam-" 
> 
> "It's okay. Which kind of pizza do you want, dear?" 
> 
> He thinks about it. 
> 
> He knows he's pulling that face - the one that, according to Jeff, always looks like the following decision will be of life-changing matter and should be made with utter care and thorough consideration. 
> 
> "Peperoni." 
> 
> "Alright", she turns back to the phone. "Still there? Hi. Yeah, that's four peperonis, two of them with extra cheese. And one tuna", she counts off. "Yes. Two extra cheese. Exactly. Alright. Thanks a lot." 
> 
> She hangs up, "Dinner's on its way!", and orders everyone to lay the table. 
> 
> You too, Jared. 
> 
>  
> 
> He feels his eyes on him, always. 
> 
> Once, Jared dares to smile across the table. 
> 
> Jensen gives it back as if he deserves it. 

 

+

 

00:00 AM, January 1st. 

Jared is there, his lips on Jensen's cheek, thumbs swiping over unclean skin like it was made of smooth glass. 

In a flash he's gone again, leaving Jensen with fireworks and the fresh, promising wind. 

His soul feels golden. 

 

\+ +

 

> "What's your favourite kind of ice cream? You have one?" 
> 
> He nods, perking up. "Two." 
> 
> "The more the better", she smiles. "Which ones?" 
> 
> "Well, there's Oreo ..." 
> 
> She hums, scribbling it on her notepad. "Yum. Another one?" 
> 
> "I, uh." He sighs deeply, closing his eyes. "I had it in mind. Just now." 
> 
> "Take your time." 
> 
> He moves forward, putting his head in his hands.  
>  She starts scribbling again. 
> 
> After a minute, she gently suggests something.  
>  "What about lemon?" 
> 
> His head darts up.  
>  Mouth falling open and shut. 
> 
> "Yeah, I. That one." He pauses.  
>  "I feel -" 
> 
> She looks up, and holds his gaze. Waiting. 
> 
> His words are flat, spoken with exhaustion. "Did Jen- did Jensen tell you? About - 'bout the ice cream? Or. I don't. I don't know, my Mum?" 
> 
> She shakes her head. "No." 
> 
> He frowns. " _No?_ " 
> 
> "You told me. Last week." 
> 
> What. Last week. What happened. 
> 
> She looks back at him, unblinking. 
> 
> No disappointment. No pity. 
> 
> Last week, last week. Last week. 
> 
> "Yes." Suddenly, he feels himself nodding. " _Yes_. I did! I remember! I - you were asking me to, like, describe my day in detail?"  
>  She nods quickly.  
>  "And I, I said I was in the city with my Mama, and I said - I told you about the ice cream shop! Oh, god. I remember." 
> 
> She releases a long, long breath. "Well done", she praises. "You're getting good at this." 
> 
> He jumps up to dance. Hung his pride on the shelf.  
>  He cannot feel his face.

 

+

 

> He doesn't stop humming for the rest of the day. Jensen seems so surprised by the amount of kisses he gets.  
>  On the cheek, on the chin, on the hand, on the nose. 
> 
> Mouth. Mouth.

 

+

 

Officially curious when a kiss stretches from one second to - ah, what's the point in counting.

Now they're breathing like they've been held underwater. 

Jay's chin and nose are wet and red. 

Jensen is panting, probably will forever.  
"So, uh. Someone tryn'a- ?"  


His thighs are tickling from invisible needles. 

The reason for that casually shrugs.  
"If anything, I deserve it."  
Wiggles around, deliberate this time. 

"Is it working?" 

With heavy lids, Jensen leans his head back, looking at him from below. 

"No." 

Jared honest to god breaks out a sharp-dimpled grin. "What'ya say?" 

Now, if there's one thing Jensen's learned in life, it's better not to argue with a cherry-lipped boy bumping noses with you. 

 

\+ +

 

"What are you _doing._ " 

"You like it?" 

"No? No... Stop it. Stop. Oh, god." 

 

\+ +

 

> Happy Reunion's morning begins with vomit, puke and brown spit. 
> 
> Jensen is right beside him, rubbing his shoulders and scrunching his own nose. "Should I go get a pregnancy test? Just to be sure." 
> 
> "Very", he spits, "funny." 
> 
> "I try." 
> 
> During breath breaks, Jensen keeps massaging. Good. It distracts from the sour taste running up his throat.  
> 
> 
> Fuck.  
>  He leans forward for another flood. 
> 
> Jensen uses both hands, working in circles, down to his ribs and up again. 
> 
> He's so glad about his haircut.

 

\+ +

 

"The sky is _white_." 

Jared glowers at the blanket of clouds as if it had personally offended him. 

And technically, it did. 

So Jensen scowls with him, joined at his hand. "Fuck the sky." 

Jared nods firmly. "Yeah. Fuck it." 

"Fuck it real hard", Jensen confirms, startling a passenger. He pulls a half-apologetic grimace at them.  
Turning back to Jared, he adds just as loud, "'Til the white comes out." 

Jared splutters out a laugh, mouth wide open around his teeth. 

Jensen puffs out his chest.  
Officially ashamed, yeah, but. What the hell. 

All the way home, Jared keeps cackling.  
What a child, Jensen thinks, pulling this grown ass man along like a five year old.  
The view sucks, but they still pause at a bridge to look over the foggy river. It makes Jared's laugh fade to silence.  
And Jensen, thinking about how much an adult could possibly laugh in one setting and how the weather influences your day's mood, figures that it's over now and they can go back to glooming and complaining and spending a perfectly ugly day together. 

Well. Two minutes in, it restarts with a low giggle. 

"What", Jensen says. " _What._ " 

"'Til the white comes o-ha-ut..." Seriously. The idiot can't stop wheezing. He even lets go of Jensen's gloved hand to wipe a tear from his nose. 

The sky is white,  
it looks all sad,  
but its shadows are now dead.

Jensen throws a snowball. 

 

 

\+ +

"White or Red?"  
\-- "Both." 

He lets out an hourlong groan.  
"I told you, Jay. That's too Santa." 

Jared shrugs, spread out on the couch, stuck mid-bite in an yellow apple. "'ove 'e o' 'eave 'e." 

 

Their toenails end up pink. 

 

\+ +

 

9 PM. 

Due to Jared's wisely chosen use of his secret weapon, they end up watching _Our Planet's Closest Neighbour_ instead of _Deadpool_. 

Seriously. 

About halfway through the movie, a yawning giant snuggles against his side, big feet pulled up to balance on the edge of the couch. 

Those legs block the view of Armstrong's first steps on lifeless ground. 

Therapy is good, Jared mumbles into the hollow of his throat. It made him remember something. 

"Yeah?" 

Yeah. 

He remembers running across the street, but he doesn't know for what reason.  
He remembers hitting the ground, and kind of. Hearing something. Feeling death. 

But no pain.  


It was strange. 

 

 

Jensen's idle hand stops carding through hazelnut strands. 

Jared turns his head, trying to face him, nose bumps into his jaw. 

Whisper. "What did you do when I was gone?" 

He hesitates. Shrugs a little.  
"Just, y'know." 

A laugh. "What? Tell me." 

Soft breezes come from the open door, brushing through their hair. 

Their voices are just hushed rumbles now. 

Shrugs again.  
"Chilling. Parties." 

An afterthought. "Meth." 

He deserves the small hit to the ribs after Jared's hitched breath.  
"Ass." 

"That, too." 

Jared shakes his messy head, pursing his lips to hide the smile. His head lays back against Jensen's chest. 

About a minute. 

Nothing moves. 

 

"Did y-"  
"No." 

Thirty-one seconds.  
Two, three. 

  
One slurred confession, close to sleep. 

"If it had been, like. You know." 

Two heavy heartbeats pass. 

"I would've. Often." 

 

  
Jensen just holds on tighter. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_What if we died tomorrow._

 

 

\+ + +

 

\+ + 

 

\+ 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a comment/kudo if you liked my work. it would be much appreciated; critics too.
> 
> thank you so much for reading.  
> even though it's called 'best piece', it's not my favourite.
> 
> fun fact: dr lector is shamelessly inspired by a certain tv show protagonist. if you ever choose to re-read this someday - _ever_ \- do yourself a favor and imagine the accent, the elegance, the aura, the chopped off body parts stored in her fridge at home.
> 
> this was my design.
> 
> x thea


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